Stolen - TESV: Skyrim Story
by jemos
Summary: Elsia has spent much of her twenty-one winters out on the streets as a thief, not out of choice, but necessity. She discovers Riften and manages to find herself right in the palm of one of the Thieves' Guild's very best, the red-haired charmer Brynjolf.


Stolen: Chapter One

I smoothed back my dark hair impatiently, staring out like a starved animal from the shadows of an abandoned alleyway. My tanned skin aided me in blending in with the darkness, as did my small form. Peering out at my next target, I crouched silently, my empty stomach quietly begging me to eat.

It had been three days since my last decent meal; in the meantime, all I had had as far as nourishment was some old mead and half a loaf of stale bread. My insides were yearning for some sustenance, my mouth watering at the thought of swiping enough gold to buy myself a nice chunk of venison or a basket full of fresh fish from Riften's hatchery.

Growing eager, I prepared myself for the perfect moment as my victim came closer, who was unaware of my hidden location between the buildings. My dark, mossy green eyes caught his every move, sizing him up.

He had on a rather odd set of armor; it was a dull chocolate brown that seemed as if it had seen much better days, with numerous scuffs and scrapes littering its surface. Many pockets lined the cuirass, and I quietly wondered what purpose they might have served.

His shoulder-length, ginger hair matched the darker red stubble that casted a shadow across his jawline. I watched him closely, intrigued as he neared my hideout, curious as to where he might have been from with such an uncommon hair color.

Tensing my muscles to ready myself for my chance, I took the brief second to breathe in deeply and reassuringly.

I had been thieving since day one; there was no way I could mess up this perfect opportunity. My sneaking, pick-pocketing and lock-picking skills had been honed over the years due to the requirement for me to steal to survive.

My Bosmer mother had died during birth and my Nord father had left before I was born. I spent the first nine years of my life with my Nord aunt, who treated me like dirt and eventually died from a plague transmitted by the skeevers that resided in her basement. When she passed away, I was forced to live out on the streets. I traveled Skyrim, teaching myself to fight, create potions, cook, and steal.

I took care of myself and that was it.

Now, I had seen twenty-one winters. I had traveled to Riften for the first time two days ago, hoping that I could find some people who looked like they had a little extra gold in their pockets so that I could snatch just enough to tide me over.

I never took more than I needed; I wasn't a greedy thief. It was just what I had to be in order to have a bit of food in my belly.

My target leisurely walked by the opening of the alleyway and I noiselessly sprung out from behind him, my deft, slender fingers outstretched and excited to feel the cold surface of some septims. Instead, a shockingly firm and knowing grip latched itself around my wrist and I jerked, unprepared for this man's keen senses.

He held me tightly, an obscure expression on his chiseled face as a pair of beautiful jade eyes stared down at me.

He towered above my small form; I had gotten most of my genes from my mother, so the lithe stature of the wood elves was what I had been blessed with instead of the larger build of the Nord people.

Still struggling against the muscular man's large hand, my heart thumped rapidly against the cages of my ribs, my mind telling me to escape his grasp and flee.

But, for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to do that.

The strikingly green eyes of the tall man bored into mine as a surprisingly sultry, velvety voice reached my pointed ears.

"So, little elf... Caught red-handed trying to steal from a professional thief, mm?" His words were thickly accented as many Nord mens' were, yet it was deeper and more exotic, and it sent an involuntary chill down my spine.

I simply stood there, my small wrist still in his hot palm. I had just been caught trying to pick-pocket a man who I had no idea was also a thief, but I didn't feel threatened. Maybe I should have, but his silver-tongue captivated me.

The male's full, rosy lips lifted in a vague half-smirk and he shocked me by letting go of my hand.

"Tongue-tied, are we, lass? Well, tell you what. I'll not punish you for attempting to relieve me of some of my gold if you agree to joining the Thieves' Guild. You've obviously got skill, considering the fact that I didn't see you until I was past your hiding spot. Consider yourself pardoned if you lend tour thievery to the Guild."

Faltering, I continued to stare at the man. I had heard of this Guild a few times during my travels, but never knew much about them.

Should I actually trust another thief?

I was torn, but this man had just given me an option to not be reprimanded for getting caught trying to pocket some of his precious septims. I assumed he was being truthful since he had put enough trust in me not to dash off when he let go of my wrist, so I nodded.

Perhaps I had just sealed my doom, or perhaps I would begin a better life than what I was used to by being among those who shared my profession.

**(Your reviews allow me to continue writing when my motivation burms out. Feel free to comment or offer constructive criticism! -jemos)**


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